


Jackets, Buses, and Snowflakes

by homicidalpotato



Category: Gerard Way - Fandom, My Chemical Romance, frerard - Fandom
Genre: Artist Gerard Way, Confusion, Eventual Romance, M/M, Slow Build, Top Frank Iero, Winter, because artist gerard way is cute, bus ride, bus sex (maybe), but also bottom frank, frank iero has a classy job, snowflakes!, winter-time because winter is so romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 15:14:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3982840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homicidalpotato/pseuds/homicidalpotato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank is a businessman.<br/>He meets a stranger on the bus, in the winter, and he's like an angel, a snowflake; he's different in every way, there for a moment, and then gone the next, and there is something about this stranger that Frank is hopelessly enchanted by.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jackets, Buses, and Snowflakes

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a collage of failed ideas and stupid ramblings and danger days Gerard Way (well, that's what Gerard's look in this story is based off of) in the form of a story.
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy.

 

 

 

When Frank first sees the distinct mop of firetruck-red coloured hair on that winter morning, his world turns upside-down.

It’s all a dull grey, businessmen in suits muddled together like penguins in the falling snow, and Frank is one of them, a numb, ordinary man with a miniature black suitcase tucked under his arm, along with a recent copy of _Anna Karenina_ , the annotated version, and he almost fits; he was going to, at minimum, but this brightly-plumed man interrupts Frank’s delicate ecosystem and the aura around the stranger derails every other female and male waiting for the bus, their dawn routine knocked far off its tracks.

The bus arrives, the brown-grey mixture of salt and snow and polluted dirt and oil churning beneath the monstrous tires, and Frank exhales, his breath a small cloud of fog and he thinks back to when he used to pretend he was a smoke-blowing dragon in the winter-time.

The curious man is exhaling into the frozen air, for his own amusement, and his thin, rose lips curl up into an excited smile. A few sideways glances and raised eyebrows are pointed in his direction, but the stranger doesn't seem to be bothered, because he is having fun watching the delicate wisps of air curl from his crimson-tinted mouth.

A man shuffles next to Frank and leans down towards his ear, his hot breath startling Frank. The brass cuff-links on his sleeves are far too bright and showy for Frank’s liking.

“That man’s not going to last a week on this bus,” the financier whispers, and although the comment was supposed to be good-natured, it came off as ill-mannered. Frank nods, but his gaze is glued upon this outsider. He is enthralled by him, and wonders if his arrival in the wealthy corporate side of town is based upon courage or innocence.

They begin to board the bus to work, a black mass lining up and stepping onto the vehicle in such a solemn manner that it looks as if they are to take part in a funeral procession. The newcomer, in a blue-coloured parka topped with this bright white faux-fur, steps onto the bus in such a flamboyant way that he is able to throw off the whole redundant pattern of forlorn faces and twenty-first century working class unhappiness. Frank realizes how misplaced this visitor truly is, evident in the fact that he is wearing a _parka_ , and that his frosty face is nearly glowing; he is completely and utterly happy he is to be going somewhere, unlike the other working men and women on the bus, and it causes this spark of rebellion in Frank that he hadn't felt in years.

 

The bus is full and Frank is full of utter dread. He hates having to sit anywhere near another; and if he were to, there would only be three seating outlays that would allow for enough room between a stranger and Frank’s own space: the seats in the very front, where two seats are positioned so that they mirror each other, and the same situation in the back of the bus. In the middle, there’s the luxurious seats, spaced further apart, although similar to those in the back and the front, and perfectly in the center of the bus, so that one could be sure not to get off the bus too late if seated in the back, or seem too eager for work if seated in the front. The middle seats have just enough amount of leg-room, and if one turned their body in such a way, any threat of conversation would be demolished.

 

To Frank’s horror, the stranger is sitting right, exactly in the middle area of the bus. All other seats are filled with pertinent, well-dressed men grimly looking straight ahead, but this unmistakable glow emanates from this man in blue, sitting alone in the horribly luxurious middle seats, as no one dared to sit next to the extraordinary stranger.

 

Cautiously, Frank gathers up his wits and sits diagonal from the man, hoping that sitting in the middle row would be worth it. The newcomer smiles, his gaze still locked on whatever happened to be out the window.

"Hello."

Frank freezes. Not once had he socialized on the bus to work; doing so was practically a sin.

The man's voice is eerily high, but at the same time, gravelly and low, and Frank isn't quite sure what to make of it. Frank nods, enough so that the man would see him, but social interactions would not have to be made.

The man continues to look out the window. Frank has no clue what to call him, and his boyish features make it difficult to call him a man. His chin is pointed, his face round and soft, and he hides in his jacket as if his subconscious does not feel comfortable enough to peep out of his blue parka. His hair is greasy and unkempt, unlike the others in this area in town, and snowflake are caught in his delicate lashes. Frank calls him Snowflake-man.

  
The rest of Frank’s ride is composed of Frank watching Snowflake-man.


End file.
